from the ashes we left
by Maladies
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS. TAKES PLACE DURING ENDGAME. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. My attempt to deal with Endgame in 970 words plus an introduction. This is vague so I don't spoil anything, sorry. Will be updated with a plot when the movie has been out for 6 months, until then, sorry folks. Click for more info but be warned, there are spoilers.


ENDGAME SPOILERS. DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT.

This movie broke me.

I've come to the conclusion that the only way to deal with it is apparently to write fanfiction.

Anyways, Peter is reflecting on the battle. Peter x Gamora. Sorry if you got this far and you're not interested; I couldn't think of literally anything else to put in the description that doesn't spoil anything.

There wasn't time for the weight that sank down in Peter Quill's chest.

He didn't have even a moment to stop and reflect on the cold hand that had pushed his away, the dark eyes so familiar who had looked at him not even blankly but with disdain. Like he was nothing. Because to her, he was nothing.

When he had seen her, the familiar flash of green skin and brightly colored hair, he had thought he finally had her back. The time since he had seen her last was both mere hours ago and years, but felt like eternity, the sensation of true emptiness and loss leaving him breathless, his last shred of hope gone. To hear that she was gone… Peter had tumbled over the edge before, but not like that. He had felt himself lose control, felt the rawness of his emotions take over any semblance of self-control he fooled himself into thinking he possessed. He had let the loss and anger rush over him like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under, but in the past, he had always felt like the surface was just above his head; and he'd return there soon enough. This time, when he lost himself, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get back. In hindsight, Peter wasn't sure he ever had. And they had lost. Because of him, their fates had been sealed.

Then, he was given another chance. The dust that had taken him had been both enemy and release; but his return only brought back his resolve. He had to fix this. Maybe, if he fought hard enough, put every last ounce of himself into it, controlled his raw emotions, he'd get a second chance. Maybe he could redeem himself. Maybe he could fix this.

And he did. He fought like he never had before. Never had he longed for the power of a Celestial more. For once, instead of his emotions threatening to make him go too far and mess everything up, the loss he felt was only fuel to the fire. He had to win this time. He couldn't let anyone else down. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, if enough of his shots landed on enemies, things would be okay again. He wasn't entirely certain what okay meant at this point, but he'd be damned if he didn't find something to be optimistic about even now.

For a moment, it had felt like he had won this time. Not only had he controlled himself, he contributed. On a battle field of every hero and fiend in the galaxy, he was not only holding his own but thriving. Shot after shot had Thanos's army falling to the ground, limp and lifeless. He was doing this. He had it. He wasn't going to mess it up this time.

Then he saw her.

The one person he knew better than anyone, who knew him better than he knew himself.

He hardly even felt himself steer himself towards her, weapons falling to his side in limp arms. He knew that expression anywhere; the steely eyes and set jaw of a warrior too determined to let anything get in her way. He knew the way dexterous fingers curled around her weapon, the blade becoming an extension of her body, one with her, and extension of her. He knew the slope of her shoulder where his fingers had lingered many times before, brushing her hair out of the way so his lips could find the curve of her neck. He had traced his fingers over the scars on her cheeks, bandaged her cuts after battle, felt her strong hands support him when he fell to the ground. He knew every curve of her body, knew her every expression, knew her fears and her victories.

He should have seen when dark eyes turned to him and, instead of recognition, there was simply…nothing. No warmth. No joy. Where he felt a relief so overwhelming he thought he'd break down crying, he saw none of that in her. It was like she didn't even know him.

Because she didn't.

This wasn't his Gamora. This wasn't the Gamora who had been his rock so many times before. This wasn't the Gamora who saved his life countless times when a battle got tough, who reached out her hand and helped him to his feet when he inevitable fell. This wasn't the Gamora who knew every one of his songs and, if no one was around, sang along. This wasn't the Gamora who told Baby Groot stories of the galaxies when he woke crying in the night. This wasn't the Gamora who would sit with him for hours after Yondu's death, each of them with one headphone, sharing in silence his father's last gift to him and sharing the pain. This wasn't the Gamora who snuggled closer to him in the mornings in the warmth of their bunk, too stubborn to acknowledge the coming of morning, instead vying for every last moment they could get where they were simply together. This wasn't the Gamora who had shared in his every high and low, who he had confided in his every fear and who had trusted him with the same.

He should have known.

He realized too late.

"Really? This one?"

There weren't any emotions left for Peter to feel. There was nothing. In the vastness of the galaxy, everything had been taken from him. Now, even the last shred of his shattered hope was gone, decimated, destroyed. There was nothing left to break down. If the world was unjust, it had won.

Peter didn't even have time to feel before the eye of the storm where he had found himself crumbled away, and over the pounding of his heart, the sounds of battle came once again.


End file.
